Polyxena
by Ailsa
Summary: A telling of the Trojan War from the point of view of Polyxena, the youngest daughter King Priam and Queen Hecuba. Yes, Polyxena is a real character from Greek mythology.
1. Prologue

The blade felt cold and hard, even though my eyes were closed and I couldn't see it. I could feel it press against the front of my neck—only the slightest movement and my life would be cut short—my spirit off to join my father and brothers in the Asphodel fields…perhaps Elysium, if I were lucky.

One of the men behind me spoke. "It's a pity that one of Priam's most beautiful daughters will be leave this world untouched. Let us deflower her first—we can each have a turn."

"No." Pyrrhus said. "This bitch deserves to die, here and now." He dug the blade further into my neck, causing me to take in a sharp breath at the feel of pain. It was what separated reality from fiction now.

Pyrrhus's voice was still not yet broken. How old was he now…10? 11? He was just a boy, yet he's already been doing the work of a man for the past year.

"Pyrrhus," I whispered, "I don't care if I die now. But you must understand…"

"My name isn't Pyrrhus, it's Neoptolemus!" Pyrrhus shouted, his true age showing through his fear.

I would have shaken my head, but the blade would have cut deeper into my throat. In fact, speaking itself was problematic for me now.

It was a cold autumn day. I could hear the waves hit the beaches of Troy from a distance. The wailing widows of the city were no longer crying—all their tears have been shed. Now it was just me, Pyrrhus, and the watching guards.

And the grave I was kneeling at. The name, Achilles, scratched messily onto the tombstone. Although I haven't yet finished my sixteenth year, at this moment I felt far wiser than anybody of my true age group. Perhaps death humbles you. Perhaps it makes you notice what you have never noticed before.

"I loved your father." I whispered.

"You betrayed him!" Pyrrhus exclaimed. He moved the dagger to my left, getting ready to slit my throat in one swift move.

I whispered three final words. "I had to."

As the sun glinted on the blade right before it severed my throat, I closed my eyes and remembered the happenings of my fifteenth year in Troy—how I, Polyxena, daughter of Priam and Hecuba, have come to meet my fatal end.

I could have started my story from the summer of my fifth year as a Phrygian princess, when my older brother, Paris, boasted that he had won the love of the most beautiful woman in the world—Helen, queen of Sparta.

But what could I have said? I bear no hatred towards Helen—she wasn't an evil woman, just a stupid one. I hardly even remember those days.

I could have started this story from my birth as the youngest daughter to King Priam and Queen Hecuba of Troy. But what could have I said about myself, as I was just a baby back then?

I shall only start the story from a year and a half ago, when I was fourteen summers old. That was the time that my favorite brother died, and the time when I first met Him.


	2. Troilus and the Well

On a hot day in the summer, I climbed up the steps of the palace to reach the top of a wall. I saw my brother standing there, his hands pressed against the brick wall as he watched the far away battle. When my brother felt my presence, he turned to me with a smile.

"Can you see him?" Troilus asked.

I held one hand in front of my eyes to block out the hot sun as I watched the brown sea of warriors fight against each other. It was a windy day, and the taste of the dry weather was in my mouth.

I laughed at Troilus' comment. "Hector's not even at the battle front yet! He's spending time with the baby."

Here Troilus laughed. "Not Hector, Achilles."

"Achilles? Why would you even care?"

"Nothing, really." Troilus quickly said. "But do you really think what they say is true? That his mother is a goddess?"

"Does it matter?" I asked, crossing my arms. "Aeneas' mother is a goddess as well—and not just any goddess, an Olympian!"

"Then why is Achilles so much a better fighter?" Troilus insisted.

I laughed. "I can't believe you're saying that!"

"It's true! Achilles is better than Aeneas—he's even better than Hector." Troilus insisted.

He walked back into the coolness of the palace and I followed him. Troilus was my favorite brother, despite the fact he was four years older than me. He always had a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, and I loved him for it.

"You aren't busy today, Troilus, are you?" I asked.

"No, why?"

I ran up to him and grasped his arm playfully. "Take me out to the city! Father won't let me go alone!"

"The city?" Troilus echoed. He folded his arms down and glanced at me suspiciously. "Just why would a Trojan princess wander around alone on the outskirts of Troy?"

"I won't be wandering alone; I'd be going with you." I insisted.

Troilus sighed. "I suppose. I don't have anything better to do, after all."

* * *

The main gates of Troy were open, as the battle was further off in the distance. The marketplace was just outside the walls of the city, and the well was in the midst of it all.

Troilus led his horse to the well as I pulled on the ropes to bring up a bucket of water. As the horse then drank the water thirstily, we sat in silence. The only thing we could hear in the distance was the clinging of metal on metal and the shouts of men.

Troilus sighed as he stared off into the distance. "I wish I could fight alongside the men."

"And die alongside them too?" I asked.

"I don't care if I die," Troilus replied boldly. "At least I would have lived a life of honor. I heard that Achilles was told he could choose between a life of danger and fame or a life of a weakness. He chose the former.

I grinned. "Exactly what is it with you and Achilles? You seem as if you would be willing to take the place of his _eromenos_! Are you willing to 'worship his thighs and buttocks'?"

For a second I wondered if my teasing had gone too far, but Troilus only made a face.

"You mock me, Sister, but our brothers mock me worse for not being able to battle. They say I am no more a man than Helen."

I gave Troilus a hug. "Now who told you that? It was Deiphobus, wasn't it?"

"Actually, it was fourteen of them." Troilus muttered. He paused for a moment. "And several of their wives. And some of our sisters too—Laodice mocked me just yesterday. They all mock me! Sometimes I want to just—grab the nearest spear and head off into battle and kill a damn Greek! The higher the rank, the better!"

"And risk your life, and the life of Troy?" I questioned. "Remember the prophecy."

"I do remember the prophecy; I have to remember it every day. Every moment of my life." Troilus said bitterly.

Troilus's horse suddenly raised its head from the bucket of water and jerked up. It snorted and took three steps back, causing both Troilus and I to stand up, surprised.

"Why is he doing that…he never does that." Troilus began before going up to the horse to soothe it."

There was screaming now in the marketplace. I twitched in alarm and my golden bracelets clinked against one another. Troilus and I glanced at each other, then at the direction where action was coming from.

_Could it be? Could the battle have moved into the marketplace so soon?_

I turned back to Troilus in a panic. "We have to get out back behind the walls. Quickly—before we're in any danger!"

A war cry suddenly pierced through the air and I jerked around to see a muscular warrior run into view.

His skin was golden and gleamed—at least the parts of it that were not covered in armor. He was built very large—far larger than Troilus or I, or even Hector. The first thought that came to my mind was,_ surely this man could not be mortal._

I suppose that was how I realized who he was: Achilles, son of Peleus. The pride of the Acheans and the most ruthless enemy of all of Troy.

I didn't fear my own life—only that of my brother. "Troilus—" I began fearfully, turning towards my brother. As I did so, the man's attention turned from me to him.

I had never before seen a man move so quickly. It took less than a second for Achilles to cross the well area, and another second to plunge a sword into Troilus' body—straight through the heart. The precision was unmatchable by anybody I had ever seen.

I had opened my mouth to scream as soon as I saw Achilles do so much as look as Troilus. By the time I heard my own scream, Troilus was already dead.

I ran to his body right as he fell, not caring that his killer was still standing over him. The body of my favorite brother had been living just a second before, but I felt his weight on me as I turned his head over, only to notice that life no longer danced in his eyes. Troilus' eyes stared into mine, but they were unfocused.

"Troilus!" I shrieked, hoping he could still hear me.

I then remembered that his spirit had yet to fully reach the Underworld, and I glanced around the area in front of me, hoping his invisible spirit was there to reassure me he was still alive.

"Troilus!" I called again.

I felt so hopeless as I knelt on the dusty ground. Troilus needed a proper burial. He needed a token in his mouth to pay the Ferryman. His body needed to be bathed and scented in perfume before he went to meet the Three Judges. Where was his spirit? Was it trying to speak to me right now?

"Maiden…" A male voice said from behind me. Was it Troilus's spirit?

I turned my head, only to find myself looking directly into the face of my brother's killer.

Achilles had taken off his helmet—a sign of respect, but for what? Still, I couldn't help but notice that his face was shockingly young for someone so notorious—he couldn't have been older than his mid-twenties.

He was dark—like most Greeks, but he was built so tall he reminded me of the statues of the Gods in the palace temples.

"Fair maiden," he addressed politely, but I interrupted him.

"Is that how you address a mourner after you kill her brother?" I screamed, vaguely surprised at the hysterics in my voice.

I didn't care if Achilles killed me now. I let Troilus' head slide off my lap as I stood up to face the giant man who stood a head taller than I. It occurred to me that he hadn't killed me because—I didn't even want to think about what he wanted to do to me. Yet, in a way, I didn't care.

"All you Achaeans are monsters, are you not? You will kill any man and you will ravish any woman! You take children as slaves, and when the boys become men you kill them too!"

Achilles took a step back—that surprised me. "All I wanted was your name."

Achilles had said enough for me to notice that his voice wasn't as deep as I would have expected from someone so great in size. It was boyish and gentle—lighter than even that of Troilus.

But I scoffed at his comment. "So you could boast of the type of woman you have conquered? I shall be nameless, fatherless. Even if you killed me, you will not receive another word from my mouth."

Achilles glanced at the gold bracelets I wore, and I realized only too late that they gave everything away.

"I already know you are a daughter of Priam." Achilles said simply. "You've got the obvious signs of wealth—the jewelry, the hair ribbons…and this young man here is your brother, is he not?"

I didn't know what to say. I decided to act as if I were still bold, though inside I was already shrinking. I kept my chin high as Achilles continued to speak.

"He's Troilus, the second youngest son of King Priam and Queen Hecuba. If he lived until he was twenty, Troy would win the war. It's a prophecy that all of Phrygian knows, and all of Hellas knows it too. I couldn't let someone live with a prophecy such as that over his head, could I?"

I looked down at the ground as Achilles circled around me. It was as if Troilus' body laid forgotten, and Achilles' eyes never left me though I tried to avoid them.

"If you won't tell me your name, I could easily guess." Achilles insisted. "I doubt you are one of Priam's bastards; you seem too well cared for. You must be a daughter to the queen as well."

Achilles circled me to one side. "You're very beautiful—I've heard that the most beautiful of Priam's daughters is Princess Cassandra. But you can't possibly be her. No…she's lost her wits for more than a decade. And she's old. She must be in her late twenties by now. How old are you, fourteen? Fifteen? You must be one of the Priam's youngest."

I swallowed and tried to speak in a low, mature voice that wasn't my own. "You seem to know a quite a bit about the royal Trojan family."

"Well I should. I've already killed off half of it." Achilles said.

His words were biting. He made death seem as if it were nothing more than a state of being—even though it was. I stared down at my fourteen golden bracelets and tried to concentrate on them to keep me from staring back at Achilles. My father gave me each bracelet on my birthday—they were from the dark land to the south of the Mediterranean.

Meanwhile, Achilles decided he had me figured out.

"Yes! You must be her—the absolute youngest daughter. Now I remember—you've been said to be the second most beautiful of Priam's daughters, and last year Nereus said you were just thirteen years of age—just ripe for marriage. Unfortunately, with the war going on, your father hasn't had the time to find you a suitor, has he? You're another Poly-something. Polynessa? Polydora?"

"Polyxena." I corrected, before I suddenly realized that I gave away my own identity.

"Aha! There we go. So you're fourteen years old, and not married yet?" Achilles looked me over. "Tell your father he better get on it quickly, because after two years you'll be past your prime."

I glanced away, and he laughed—a boyish laugh. "Don't take my teasing too seriously, fair maiden." Achilles said. "After all, this entire war is fought for Helen's hand, and she's past thirty! Her daughter is seventeen and not yet married—I've suggested to Menelaus as a joke that she ought to be married to my ten-year-old son, but I believe Menelaus is so desperate to marry her off he might even agree. That wouldn't make Agamemnon happy, he has a son of his own and I believe…"

"What are you going to do to me?" I interrupted.

Achilles looked surprised. "I was just speaking to you. What do you expect—that I would be so cruel as to deflower such a beauty against her will?"

"If you aren't going to kill me and you aren't going to ravish me, then let me go." I demanded.

Achilles wiped the blood on his sword against Troilus's tunic right in front of my eyes. I felt myself getting ready to cry, but Achilles was oblivious to it.

"Why do you hate me so much?" Achilles asked.

Was he kidding? Did he not realize what he just did?

"I loved my brother and you took him away from me." I said bitterly.

"Everyone is someone's brother, Princess, if not a son, father, uncle, or whatnot. It is a part of war, and that is a part of life."

Achilles placed his sword in its sheath again and bowed to me as he stepped away. "It was great talking to you, Polyxena, daughter of Priam. I shall see you again—for now I shall let you get your brother buried and beat your breasts, pull your hair, and mourn for him until you no longer grudge me. Farewell."

Achilles put his helmet on again and left me standing there in the empty clearing, my hands tightened into fists while Troilus's body lay in the dust. Troilus's short, boyish tunic was now covered in still-wet blood as his eyes lay open, staring sideways at the well.


	3. Night

That night, Troilus's body was carried back into the palace by two soldiers as I stood with my sisters.

Mother covered one hand with her mouth as she saw Troilus's lifeless body. Her old withering hands grasped the sides of his face and she bent down and kissed Troilus on the forehead.

Father's shoulders shaking. If he had been weeping, I wouldn't have been able to tell—his grey beard would have hidden all evidence of it. He turned to me, his voice weak and quivering.

"Did you see who did it Polyxena? Did you see the man who killed my boy?"

Father grasped both my arms with his hands and he stared into my eyes, desperate to know the answer.

I swallowed. "It was Achilles."

Most of my sisters ("the prophecy!" Cassandra screamed. "Troy will burn!") and the wives of all my brothers were crying…again. Several really were beating their breasts and pulling their hair…Achilles' voice echoed in my mind as I heard his last words again.

It seemed strange that though I loved Troilus more than anyone else did, I wasn't crying at all. I knew the war wasn't over yet, and once I had no brothers left, then I would cry. For all of them.

Beautiful, empty-headed Helen was standing by a column on the side as tears trickled down her eyes. Paris had one arm around her.

"May I be excused to my bedchamber, Father?" I asked, hoping that no other details were asked about the incident.

Father nodded, and I left.

* * *

I dived face-first onto my bed fully-dressed and decided that now I could properly cry. Forget waiting for all my brothers to die first—I wanted to cry_ now_. I let my mouth open and let out a loud wail when the door burst open and I quickly silenced myself as I saw Paris standing at the doorway.

"Get out." I ordered as tried to keep the tears from running down my face.

"I want to ask you a question—"

"Get out!" I insisted.

Paris came up to me and sat down on my bed. I backed into the wall—it was unspeakable for any man to enter a maiden's bedchamber. What was he doing?

"I need to speak to you." Paris began.

"I'll curse you to the gods if you harm me in any way!"

"Now that's ridiculous, why would I want to harm you? I just want to talk to you." Paris insisted. "Can I ask you a question?"

I lowered my guard. "What would you like to know?"

"Exactly what happened there? Troilus didn't die on the battle ground, so how did Achilles manage to get to him?"

"I don't know." I replied.

"Were you two alone?"

I didn't know if Paris was talking about Troilus and I or Achilles and I. Both were true, anyway, but I didn't want to say it.

"I don't know."

"Did Achilles even know he killed Troilus?"

"I don't know. " I lied.

"Polyxena! You act as if you weren't even there!" Paris exclaimed, frustrated.

"Why does it matter?" I insisted. "You don't fight, anyway. While all the rest of our brothers are risking their lives in battle, you stay home and make love to Helen! Yet the war was fought because of you!"

Paris sighed and got up to leave. As he reached the door, he turned around and glanced at me one more time.

"I know there's something you're not telling me." Paris said before he stepped out of the room.

I waited until I was sure that Paris was too far away from my room to hear me. Then I cried.

* * *

Meanwhile, at the Greek campsite far away, Achilles was sitting in a tent, staring into a fire. He was bare-chested due to the heat of the fire as he ate a bit of deer.

He looked heard someone start to come into his tent and smiled.

"Patroclus," Achilles greeted, acknowledging his friend and lover.

"I've come with news," Patroclus began as he knelt down next to Achilles.

"Oh?"

"Calchas made a new prophecy!" Patroclus began cheerfully.

"Calchas always makes prophecies, there's nothing new about that." Achilles muttered.

"But this is different: he claims that the war will not be over until they fetch the man with the bow and arrow of the legendary Heracles!"

Achilles shrugged. "Is that so? Who has the bow and arrow of Heracles?"

"Philoctetes, son of Poeas. Unfortunately, we marooned him on an island right before the war started. He's probably dead by now."

Achilles laughed. "Oh, Patroclus, how you make me laugh."

Patroclus crawled over to Achilles and wrapped his arms around the larger man's waist before trying to kiss him on the lips. Suddenly they were interrupted.

"Achilles!" One of the men called out, opening the flap of the tent.

Achilles waved the man off. "Can't you see that I'm busy?"

"We've got a present for you. Earlier today we raided one of Apollo's temples and kidnapped several of the virgins. You've got a prize, and she's with me right now."

A young girl in a torn white tunic was pushed into the temple. Her wrists were bound and she looked terrified—she was fourteen? Fifteen? She took one look at Achilles and Patroclus and burst into tears.

"Do you want her? If you don't, we'll give her to King Diomedes." The man said.

Achilles smiled at the girl's innocence. She reminded him of the princess he met earlier that day. "Leave her here."

"But Achilles," Patroclus began, looking annoyed. "What about me?"

"I love you, Patroclus, really. But tonight I'll bed her."

Patroclus left the tent looking furious, and Achilles turned his attention back to the girl.

"What is your name?" He asked.

The girl shook her head, crying. No, she was nothing like the princess he had met earlier. But the girl was the right age, and she was still pretty, nonetheless.

"Tell me your name." He demanded again. He drew his sword to mean business.

"Briseis," the girl uttered quickly before crying even harder.

Achilles shrugged. It was good enough for him. The girl cried out as Achilles then pushed her down to the ground and ravished her, imagining she was the princess he met earlier that day.


End file.
